‘Yes, sir!’ cried old Williams, brightening up with intelligence. ‘I remember there was one gentleman that crossed with us last year to Trinidad, and he used to boast that there was no one on board could beat him at that game. And no more there was, and his play was always to let the other sweep near half his men off the board afore he’d begin in arnest at all. Lord! I’ve stood and watched ’em when I was off duty, many and many a time, and been as near as possible a-crying out to him to take care; but he had got the game, sir, at his fingers’ end, and always came off victor, whoever sat down with him.’ ‘Just so. That gentleman’s plan must have seemed inexplicable to anyone who was ignorant of the rules of chess, but those who knew them and watched them to the end, would have understood that he allowed his knights and pawns to be taken only, that he might preserve his queen and his castle, and win the game for them all. Do you follow me?’ ‘I think I can, sir, though I don’t know where the dickens you’re a leading me to.’ ‘Only to this point—that you must try and think in the same way of the dealings of Providence with men. We cannot tell why one of us is rich and the other poor; why one has blessings in this life and the other nothing but troubles. But God does. We only see the effect; He knows the cause. He is the player of the game, Williams, and does not allow one piece to be taken captive by the enemy, except with a view to final victory.’ ‘Well, sir, that’s all very clever argumentation, but it don’t convince _me_. It’s sorry work listenin’ to reason for comfort. He’s swept away all my pieces, one arter another—there’s no question about that—and left me alone in the world, and I can’t see the mercy of it nor the justice either,’ replied the old man in a discontented tone. ‘But it is not only to the sick and the old and the poor that He deals out His judgments,’ continued Egerton sadly. ‘We all have our troubles, in whatever position we may be placed.’ At this moment the man up on the forecastle shouted again at the top of his voice, ‘Whatever is, is best.’ ‘I wish that Ben’s tongue was a little shorter,’ exclaimed Williams hastily. ‘He’s always a bawlin’ out them cheerful songs, as makes a feller feel twice as downhearted as he did afore.’ ‘’Twould be all the same to you, “Old Contrairy,” whatever he sung,’ remarked another sailor in passing; ‘for the song ain’t written yet as would give _you_ any satisfaction to listen to.’ ‘Well, I likes to hear sense, whatever it be,’ shouted “Old Contrairy” after him. ‘Look at that bank of clouds, rolling up from leeward. We shall have a squall before long, as sure as I sits here. However, I suppose that fool Ben would go on shoutin’ “Whatever is, is best,” if the “Star of the North” was split into fifty pieces, and he was just goin’ under water with his mouth choke full of weed.’